


The Mage and the Apothecary

by Catalysis



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Asexual Character, Dating, F/M, Mages, Magic, POV First Person, Romance, Shyness, Whiterun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catalysis/pseuds/Catalysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farengar Secret-Fire has been avoiding his regular trips to Arcadia's Cauldron. Arcadia decides to take matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mage and the Apothecary

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short fic I wrote about Farengar and Arcadia. Their friendship (or maybe something more??) wasn't very well-explored in the game. It's pretty much entirely unbeta-ed but I wanted to post it. If people actually read/enjoy this fic I'll write more for it! Otherwise it will just remain a little one-shot. Thanks for checking it out. :)
> 
> (One last note: this MIGHT have a little hint of dubious consent at the very end, but not really. Just be warned.)

Your name is Farengar Secret-Fire. You’re the court wizard for Jarl Balgruuf and an astonishingly talented sorcerer in your own right. You wear long navy robes even in the heat of summer – which, to be fair, is not that hot this close to the mountains. You have dark, twinkling eyes with a bit of magic behind them.

  
And me? I’m a little shy, of course I’m shy. This is nothing special, just drinks at the Bannered Mare. I laid out one of my best dresses that morning, long and curling at the hem like a witch’s robe. It seems to take forever for the sun to slip behind the horizon.

  
You walk in a few moments late, catching my eye from across the room. I’ve picked a cozy table in the corner, away from the hubbub near the fire. Hulda waits on me before you arrive. I’ve grown fond of the old Nord woman. I’ll hate when she retires, although I’ve grown to like Ysolda. I’m sipping my mead, watching Mikael serenade the hunters coming in from the field. There’s a young woman here with a sharp gaze and a bow on her back. I watch you elbow past her before you approach the table.

  
“Good evening, Arcadia.” you say calmly, slipping into the chair opposite my own.

  
“Good evening, Farengar. For a moment, I was worried you had decided to disregard my little invitation.” I chuckle to myself, for I had barely considered the possibility before voicing it aloud.

  
You also seem to find some humor in this suggestion. “Well, yes, I must admit that the prospect of staying at Dragonsreach was appealing. The weather threatens to grow dreary before the night is through.” Hulda approaches and you give her your order.

  
I watch as she places another mead on the table in front of you. “I see you have excellent taste.”

  
“I tend to take my company’s lead in such matters.”

  
I watch the crowd for a moment. “I suppose, being so close to the Jarl, that you know more of the hold’s business than most of these common hunters.”

  
You ‘hmm’ as you sip your mead, shaking your head chidingly. “More than I would like to know. Don’t draw me into your political matters, Arcadia… You know I prefer my books and spells.”

  
I decide that I still like to hear my name from your lips. “Come now,” I settle back in my chair, crossing my legs and fixing my gaze on him. “Surely you must know, it is best for men and women of magic to safe-keep Skyrim. We cannot count on the others to do it for us, not even the Jarls.”

  
Farengar looks away from his flagon and fixes our gazes together. “No, I don’t know that. I think that you forget… I am a Nord.”

  
I hadn’t forgotten. Still, I did not know you as one to broadcast this fact. The tensions between the Imperials, my own people, and the Nords were growing stronger every day. Rumor spread of a war, of an uprising. But I had never paid much heed to the struggle. My home is this city, just as it is yours. Nothing will be able to change that.

  
“So,” I push a stray hair behind my ear, carefully planning to change the subject. “I trust that you have taken the full course of healing elixirs I prescribed for you? Can’t have the court wizard falling ill during his doubtlessly important duties.”

  
“And what would you know of my duties?” Your tone is delectable, your dark eyes teasing underneath your hood. It occurs to me now that I haven’t seen your bare head in a year at least – the last time, your hair fluttering in the breeze on the steps of Dragonsreach as Balgruff overlooked his domain. It disappoints me that we have been so separate from one another as of late. And of course I intend to find out why.

  
“I’m afraid I know a good deal about them, or at least I used to. Perhaps I should make more errands to the top of the city – perhaps I will have to if I expect to see hide or hair of you without a special invitation.”

  
“I do miss my trips to the Cauldron,” You raise your flagon to your lips, averting your gaze reservedly. “Although I have been much too busy for them.”

  
“And what has been occupying your time?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t sound desperate at all, because I am genuinely curious. That you would stay away for so long, without explanation, seems unusual.

  
I remember you coming to look for ingredients. Your plan was to whip up whatever the Jarl needed, little potions and elixirs for his family and honored guests. I suppose that’s what the younger wizards must do, to prove themselves in their new profession. I showed you the books and scrolls containing recipes that hadn’t been made in years. I could tell that your pride was tarnished through requesting my assistance, and after that first meeting I doubted I would see you again. It was much to my surprise that you returned. Our continued meetings had been a light in my life. After some time we came to see each other as colleagues, as equals. Our conversations were sources of inspiration and inquiry alike. Then one afternoon, they were gone.

  
“I have had several important missives of late. They prevent me from using my free time as I may wish.” You set down your flagon and meet my eyes again. “I very highly doubt that any of them would intrigue you in the slightest.”

  
“You might be mistaken,” I challenge.

  
“And I don’t think any of them are particularly thrilling. Or even something that would entertain the most bored audience.” Your tone is slightly more evasive. This isn’t like you at all.

  
I am quick to respond. “Perhaps you should not be the judge of such things. I might find them incredibly interesting. It depends on---”

  
“Why is it so important?” You ask suddenly. The air falls silent between us, where the buzzing tension of our banter had been palpable before. I can practically feel the air that you sigh out in a quiet hiss.

  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” I say.

  
“It’s not important,” you continue. “There was nothing to speak of on the matter.”

  
“I simply meant to say,” I begin, pressing my luck ever so slightly, “that I missed your company at my shop.”

  
“As did I.” He responds a little too quickly. He looks up and our eyes snap together again.

  
There it is. That curious little hint of tension between us, of unresolved feelings never discussed.

  
“I don’t mean to keep you from important work. Your duties as court wizard, of course, are the most important aspect of your life.” I lean into the table, never letting our gaze break. “However, I would very much like to have you visit again.”

  
You don’t respond, quickly raising your flagon to drink. I think I see the slightest dusting of a blush on your cheek, but it may have been the darkening light of the hearth playing tricks on my eyes. I glance out to the room and see that some of the patrons have already begun to depart for the night.

  
“And how… soon… would you care to have me visit again?”

  
You catch my attention with how hesitant and how halting your voice is, that hint of reticence in your tone. I smile, a real and honest smile for the first time this evening. And you return it.

  
I imagine us digging through my newest collection of books, talking about everything under the sun to do with magic. Perhaps you can teach me a few new spells. Perhaps I may show you the newest potions I’ve prepared. We’ll be the quiet Nord mage and the brash Imperial apothecary, as perfect complements and companions. We can stay together until the sun rises over the mountains. The birds will begin to sing on the dying branches of the Gildergreen and the marketplace will begin to stir with merchants setting up for the day. Then, and only then, will I let you go back to Dragonsreach again.

  
“Tonight, if the Jarl may spare you.”

  
As we walk out into the chilly night air, I feel your hand on the small of my back, helping me along the uneven cobblestones. I think for a moment about your characteristic quiet reticence, now coupled with the hint of affection I saw in your gaze.

  
And if it was just the love potion I slipped into the last healing elixir I sent you? Well, that’s not for me to decide.


End file.
